Cuppa Soup
by pinkswallowsun
Summary: "You know," Harry says thoughtfully, leaning in closer. "Sometimes actions speak louder than words, don't you think?" And with that said he leans in even closer, pressing his lips to yours in a slow-starting, yet deep, passionate kiss.' For Dinabar xx
1. Part 1

**You would not believe the trouble I've had with this today! I'll start at the beginning: last weekend I wrote a one-shot for Dinabar's birthday (which sadly was over 10 minutes ago, but I'll explain that in a minute) following on from Neil's death in 'Shadows', before the 6 weeks later ending. According to my mom it was one of my best ones :( So I came back from gymnastics yesterday morning (her birthday) and went to upload it, only to find my computer had caught a virus and crashed. And of course I hadn't been clever enough to save Dinabar's birthday fic onto my flashdrive. Cue major panic. So my brother gave up his afternoon to fix my laptop for me, which he managed. Except all my unpublished fics (which stupidly weren't on the flashdrive) have been sucked up into a big cyber black hole and lost forever :'( **

**So I did the only thing I could do, and started again. It's not the same as the original, partly because I can't remember exactly how it went and partly because it would be far too depressing to write out the same plot all over again. So I've taken the bits I liked best from the original, lost version and added a different twist. The only problem is, it's now the day after Dinabar's birthday :( And I'm still not finished. So… Dinabar, this 2-parter is for you. Part 1 is a belated birthday present, and part 2 is for being so understanding and generally amazing :) Once again, I'm very, very sorry. I just hope this can make up for it a little! **

**Love Flossie xxx**

**PS . the title will make sense in part 2. Promise :) But bonus points for anyone who guesses.**

**Cuppa Soup**

**Part I**

"Dr Alexander, are you alright?"

You jump at the mere sound of his voice at first, startled, gaze fixed firmly on the lifeless body collapsed on the floor beside you. Unmoving… he's not moving, but you know that, you tried for his pulse the moment he fell… Oh god.

It had just all happened so fast. The shattering of the glass, Neil falling to the floor… suddenly you can't think straight, find yourself left a little unclear as to what actually _did_ happen. Was it Neil who pointed the gun first? Did he see the hostage squad through the frosted glass door into the cutting room, realized who they were and point his gun at them, just to be sure… could that have been what provoked them to fire? You can't remember, it was all over so horribly fast, Neil's life taken from him faster than you could blink. Or had he been moving to target you when the police officers fired, your life saved only by the quick reactions of the hostage squad? Did Neil Corrigan turn against you in those final split seconds of his life, try to silence you the way he silenced Scott Western? You don't know, didn't have time to register it all before it was over. You hope not. In a funny way, you… you liked him. His heart was in the right place, he didn't want all this to happen, just didn't know how to stand up to Scott Western. That's what you've been telling yourself all afternoon, trapped in his clutches. A part of you hoped he liked you too, just a little. You don't even want to think about how messed up that sounds.

No, you're not sure how it happened, what it was the provoked the firing of that fatal bullet, Neil Corrigan collapsing down hard onto the cutting room floor. That gunshot barely echoed through the room at all, but still it seems to reverberate endlessly through your mind, torturing you, that all-ending, soul-destroying bullet penetrating again and again and again until it's all you can hear, all you can focus on. He's lying on the floor beside you, still warm, though the last traces of life within him are fading away into nothingness with each passing second. Neil Corrigan, final victim in Scott Western's sick little game of chasing shadows. Yet another who didn't need to die.

Though is Neil really the final one? At the moment he is. At the moment they all think it's over, finished, dealt with, only the messy, loose ends left to tie up, but you know that's far from the case. Everything could change in a matter of minutes, maybe even seconds, you don't know. No one does. And that's why you've got to pull yourself together, got to stop the gunfire stuck in a loop in your mind just for long enough to breathe, to think, to tell the police about the bombs and make sure no one else is made to suffer at Scott Western's hands, no one else dies. For Neil. You have to do it for Neil, if nothing else. He died believing Scott's lies, manipulated, maybe even died in the belief that there was blood on his hands, the blood of his friends, his fellow students. You can't be completely certain of that final part, but you can't risk allowing his soul to acquire yet another burden to bear, not after the events of today, all that had happened this afternoon. If nothing else, it's his birthday today, you remind yourself. Was. Was once his birthday. Forever more it will be remembered as his date of death.

"You need to get everyone off the campus." You barely even recognise your own voice as you issue your instruction, battling to keep your voice calm and controlled, credible as possible, but not quite succeeding. You can sense the fear in your own tone, the quivering of your voice as you try your hardest to stay calm. But you have to stay calm… you have to, can't panic. You can't panic! They'll think you've gone into shock if you panic, won't believe a word you say, and by the time you've convinced them of the danger just across the campus it'll all be far too late.

But they don't even believe you now, you can tell. An assortment of blank, confused faces blink back at you from beneath their helmets, look you up and down, seemingly trying to decide whether the events of the afternoon have sent you into some curious state of shock, or perhaps there is some kind of method to your madness after all. Their guns are still aimed at you and Neil, you realize now, a little horrified, a little afraid. They can't possibly regard him a as a threat anymore. He's dead, for god's sake! They killed him! How can they still justify those horrible killing monstrosities pointing in his direction when his heart has already stopped beating?

"Now!" You didn't intend on screaming, you really didn't. You were going to be calm and controlled, you really were, but now you're afraid the police squad aren't going to take you seriously you've somehow lost all your self-control; your sole purpose has become to warn them all before it's too late, prevent any more deaths today. You're not sure if you could stand to have any more post mortems to complete tomorrow morning than you already do, not ones for which you'll already know the cause of death for certain.

But still the hostage squad aren't moving.

"Please! Please, you don't understand…" Your surroundings are suddenly a little blurry, your voice muffled, head beginning to spin; you swallow hard, attempting to fight it off. You can't break down, not now. You have to tell them, warn them…

"The campus… it's… it's not safe…" You can't understand what's wrong with you, when it suddenly became such a tremendous effort just to force a string of words out. "It wasn't just… shooting… he… the campus… bombs…" You can't breathe. You can't breathe, can't focus, not with the cutting room beginning to spin faster than your eyes can keep up, your throat tightening…

"_And now I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do!"_

"Neil?" You turn around at the sound of his voice, concerned, spin a little too quickly given how dizzy you feel, given that you're not quite here, not really, stuck in some peculiar state of limbo between multiple realities. Neil's not there, he's lying cold on the floor, but you can hear him, you can hear his voice…

"Dr Alexander? Dr Alexander, are you alright?"

"_That cut, the big artery in your arm, Scott did that to him!"_

Oh god… oh god, what if Harry and Leo are still in there, what if the bomb squad don't get there in time, the campus isn't evacuated before…

"Dr Alexander? Come on, let's go outside, you'll feel better if we get you some fresh air…"

"_I saw them, Nikki…"_

"But… the bomb…"

"I know, I know, we're onto that. Come on, let's get you out of here…"

"_Nikki! Nikki…!"_

"Harry… Harry," you whisper one last time, before your brain seems to go into meltdown and the world fades to black.

**SW*SW*SW**

"Nikki? Nikki?" You're vaguely aware of someone calling your name softly, voice laced with concern, a female voice you think you might recognise but can't quite place. Whoever it is, they're gripping your hands tightly, reassuringly, willing you to wake up. "Nikki, come on, it's alright. You're alright."

You recognise this woman's voice, you know you do, but you're still not quite with her, wherever she is. You're stuck in some kind of dream world, Neil Corrigan sat opposite you, perched on the edge of one of the mortuary slabs, but… different, somehow. Happy, carefree, released from the emotional turmoil of today forevermore.

Is it all over? You've no idea, no idea at all. Are Harry and Leo alright? Harry… What if it was all too late, what if the bomb squad arrived all too late, what if you've lost them? What if this is it, they've gone, left you alone, you're never going to be able to see Harry again and thank him for holding you together this morning on the campus, tell him how much you… no. No, you can't allow yourself to think like that, either way. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't; can't even contemplate the possibility that you've lost either of them but at the same time a part of you want to be prepared for the worst, just in case…

"Nikki?" Her voice is still calling out to you, the woman's, the voice you really should recognise but still can't place. You want to pull yourself from sleep and back to reality, want to remind yourself to whom this voice belongs, ask her about Leo and Harry, want to run to find the latter and throw yourself into his arms and tell him the one thing you've been far too afraid up until now to tell him. It's funny, what being forced to confront the issue of mortality can do to you. Funny what it can make you see, things that you think you must have seen subconsciously all along but never before even dared to admit to yourself. It's funny how a crisis like this can suddenly open your eyes to it all, metaphorically, at least.

Because you can't bear to open your eyes properly, physically, not yet. You can't face what you might find when you do, who might be lurking in the background, out of earshot, or their way here (wherever here is), or… or… you can't even say it, that possibility is so terrifying that you can't even say it. You can't have lost Harry. You can't, you just can't. You're two halves to the same person, dependent upon one another for life, for survival, on the friendship and passion and the underlying tones of something more, the hope that one day, just maybe…

And Leo, you can't bear to have lost Leo, either. Again, now you've been forced to confront his mortality head-on you realize the extent to which you've become attached to him over the years. He's been more of a father figure to you than your own has been since that day he left when you were just 11 years old, even if he never intended it, even if you never fully appreciated it until now, confronted with the bombs you know Scott Western has planted around the university campus, the reality of losing a father all over again. You're not convinced you're strong enough to lose Leo, lose that father figure and all the feelings of safety and comfort that come with him. Not on top of losing Harry.

No. No, you can't bear to open your eyes, you simply can't. You'd rather sleep on oblivious for a little while longer, put off the inevitable until you can't possibly avoid it any longer.

It's stupid, you do know that. It really is stupid. You know you can't hide from the truth forever, you're not that confused, haven't been sent crazy by the shock and the trauma of today. You can't remember how you got here, true, but you're not going mad, you're really not. You know you can't pretend to be asleep forever, but you can't face the mere idea of being told the worst, not now.

Maybe not ever.

You should face it all now, get it over with. You really should. But you can't. And so you give in to the darkness once more, allow yourself to sink away into a dreamless sleep and forget, forget today, forget your fears, forget the horribly lonely future you're terrified to be sentenced to. You can't do it now. Later. Later you'll try. But not now.

**SW*SW*SW**

"Nikki? Nikki? Nikki, can you hear me?"

Yes. You can hear her properly this time, clearly; it doesn't sound like you're underwater anymore, listening to a recording of her voice made alongside a busy motorway. Now you even recognise her voice, the haze cleared. It's Janet's voice- your brain tells you this only after a slight delay. It's Janet here with you, trying to pull you out from your state of unconsciousness; panic attack, faint, collapse, whatever it was that came over you before, led to this. You're much more aware this time around that you were before; still don't know where you are but think you must be somewhere in the Lyell Centre, must have been moved by the menacing looking hostage squad when you… when whatever happened. No… wait… you do know where you are. The unmistakable smell of Leo's air freshener is fast filling your nostrils.

"Nikki?"

Slowly, uncertainly, you force your eyes to open, moaning softly as the bright intensity of the room hits you all at once, too much too soon after however long you've been out, after being imprisoned in the dark for however long you were with… with Neil. Oh god, Neil… and Harry and Leo… and… and Harry…

"Nikki, it's OK, it's alright." Your vision is still blurry but not as atrociously so as it was before, you can tell it's Janet sat next to you holding your hand, Janet leaning over you with a peculiar mix of worry and reassurance on her face. You think that's probably the part of it all that triggers the tears, not so much the stress and the trauma today has been but the realization that it's Janet here with you, not Harry, not Leo. It's not that you're not pleased to see Janet, of course, that really isn't the problem. The problem is the fear at why she's the one here with you, the what ifs, all the questions you want so badly to ask but can't seem to find the words. When did everything start to go so horribly wrong?

"Nikki? Nikki, come on, it's alright," Janet is insisting, pressing a tissue into your hand. "You had a panic attack? Do you remember? You had a panic attack, but you're fine now, I promise. Come on, deep breaths. It's alright. Everything's going to be alright."

"But… the bomb… campus… too late?" You wish her luck trying to understand your garbled mish-mash of words, try and fail to understand why you seem to have been rendered completely incapable of stringing even the simplest of sentences together. Pathetic. It's just pathetic.

Somehow- and god only knows how- Janet manages to succeed in making sense of what you're trying to ask.

"It's OK, Nikki. It's OK, everything's fine. The bombs didn't go off. The police evacuated the building, found them, but they didn't go off. No one was hurt, it's all fine. Everything's fine."

"Harry?" Your voice sounds so hazed and confused that you honestly wouldn't blame Janet for thinking you're hallucinating, talking to a version of Harry perched on the end of the sofa you're laid across in Leo's office, a perfect replica of Harry produced on the behalf of your imagination.

"Harry's fine, Nikki, I promise. Harry and Leo are both fine, they're just talking to the police now, giving their statements. They're fine, there's nothing to worry about. Everything's fine."

"No it's not! Not it's not… Neil, Neil Corrigan, he… it wasn't him… he…"

"No, we know, Janet sighs, hands on your shoulders as you sit up slowly, seemingly worried that you might not be entirely recovered from the panic attack which took over you before. "It was Scott, I know. The police know it was him, Nikki, Neil realised what he was doing when they got as far as the toilets and put a stop to it…"

"No! No!" you don't mean to shout at her, you really don't, but you can't have Neil take the blame for the shooting, even a part of it. "No! No, he didn't kill anyone, he didn't, he just didn't have the strength to stand up to Scott until the damage was already done. But he stopped it, he saved us! He stopped even more people falling victim to Scott Western, he saved us! He didn't deserve this!" And suddenly it all comes flooding back, those moments before the hostage quad arrived…

"They didn't have to kill him!" you protest weakly. You don't know why you're protesting, it's far too late now. He's dead, murdered at the hands of a trigger-happy hostage squad, no bringing him back. He's dead. It's all too late to protest on his part.

"They were just trying to protect you, Nikki…" Janet tries, but still she doesn't understand. You have to make her understand, have to clear Neil's name, let him rest in innocent peace.

"But he was going to do the right thing!" you sob hopelessly. "He wasn't aiming the gun, he was handing it over, he was giving it to me… he… he was going to do the right thing by everyone and then they had to go and shoot him! Why did they have to go and shoot him? Harry…" That last part is a mere whisper, so quiet that you don't think Janet hears, you barely even hear it yourself. "I want Harry."

She takes you home in the end. They won't let you stay at the Lyell Centre whilst you wait for Harry and Leo, want to get everyone off the campus, close it off for a couple of days and get to the bottom of what actually happened, every last detail. You're done giving your statement long before Harry and Leo are and so Janet offers to take you back to hers, says the pair of you can wait there for them together. But you decline. You don't want to have to hold yourself together the way you will around company, the way you'll force yourself to no matter how many times Janet tells you that it's OK to cry. No, you've made up your mind. You'd rather be alone.

Janet isn't exactly comfortable with the idea of leaving you alone in your flat, not after the day you've had. She fusses over you the whole way back, worrying, reminding you that you suffered a panic attack just a few hours ago, passed out for half an hour or so, spent a good chunk of today held at gunpoint before witnessing your captor's life end abruptly right in front of you. But she gives in eventually. Maybe she's heard from Leo that once you get an idea in your head you tend to be rigid, refuse to back down no matter what. Or maybe she's worried that once you're back home you'll break down completely, that she'll be left with you in a quivering mess, have to pick up the pieces.

But the bottom line is that you end up alone in your flat, scrubbing frantically at your fingernails in an attempt clean out the blood traces for the second time today, shaking just a little even with an oversized fluffy jumper and the heating knocked up several degrees. Maybe you got it wrong. Maybe being alone wasn't the best idea after all. You keep glancing across the room at your mobile, waiting, willing it to ring, willing him to call. Harry… You just want to talk to someone, that's all you want. You want someone to promise you that the shadows lurking in your hallway whenever you try to enter your kitchen are nothing but that, just shadows, harmless, nothing to be afraid of.

"_They were just shadows, Nikki."_

No. No, you're not going to think about Neil like that. You can't. That wasn't him talking, it was Scott, controlling him; that was before you got through to him and made him see that he hadn't caused the shooting, wasn't responsible for the bloodshed, the pain, the killings. That wasn't Neil talking, not really. It was Scott. It was Scott…

You shiver violently now, curling up at the end of your sofa. You're cold, tired, thirsty… it's late, too. Really you should just go and get a drink and then head straight to bed, curl up under the covers and sleep and forget all about the horrors of today, erase it from your mind for the night. You'll probably feel better if you get some sleep.

But you can't. You can't go into your bedroom. It's dark in there; you didn't have the common sense to go in there and turn on the lights before the sun disappeared, engulfed into a menacing dark sky. You're scared. You're scared of going into your own bedroom, scared of the shadows which might follow you, scared that even if you do make it into your room you won't be able to sleep, will be haunted all night long; every time you close your eyes the slightest shadow in the corner of the room jolting you from your slumber, forcing you awake, out of bed to check and be certain that there's nothing there. It's not worth the effort. You'd rather just try and sleep on the sofa, put up with a sore back for days on end as long as it means you don't have to venture into the dark, take your chances with the shadows…

And then comes the knock at the door.

You jump, startled, heart skipping a beat as someone rams their fists heavily against your front door, controlling your breathing consciously, fearfully. _Don't be stupid, Nikki. It's no one. Probably just a neighbour who took a parcel in for you this morning, something like that. It's fine, don't panic. Don't panic._

You move to the front door slowly, cautiously, peer out through the viewing hole before you dare take hold of the door knob, half-afraid that the horrors of the campus this morning are going to repeated all over again and Scott Western is going to kick down the door, gun in hand. He can't, of course, you know he's in intensive care. Janet told you when you'd recovered from your wave of panic. But somehow that doesn't make you feel any safer.

But the moment you look through the viewing hole properly, take in the figure on your doorstep, suddenly you don't feel so vulnerable and afraid anymore. Because right there on your doorstep is the very person you've been desperately worried about all afternoon, the person you've been pining after more than you should have, the only person you've wanted all evening.

You unbolt the door hurriedly, throwing the door open and practically haul yourself into Harry Cunningham's arms before you have a chance to register what you've done. Even when you do realise, you don't care. You and Harry have always hugged, perhaps more than best friends normally do, but never have you thrown yourself at him quite like this, clung to him quite so tightly. But then you've never been so afraid of losing him before, never had a reason to be so grateful to see him, alive, in one piece, tired-looking but hanging on, just about. This is a natural reaction, that's what you tell yourself, a natural reaction to seeing him alive and well after being so worried you might never get to again. It's nothing else. It can't be. You can't be falling for him, you can't be, not after so many years of convincing yourself he's off limits. You can't, you simply can't.

The trouble is, you think it might be a little too late for that.


	2. Part 2

**Part II**

You don't want to let go.

You end up staying there on the doorstep for god only knows how long, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, leaning into his warm embrace. Talk about bad manners. You should invite him in, you know that, force yourself to let him go just for a handful of seconds, long enough to usher him in through the front door and through into your lounge, collapse down onto the sofa. You can cling onto him for dear life once the two of you are inside your flat, away from the cold, the darkness, the… the shadows lurking at the bottom of the stairs, taunting, shifting menacingly in the darkness the moment you dare to take your eyes off them. 'They're just shadows, Nikki', that's all they are. They're just shadows….'

"_No they weren't! They were shadows!"_

"Nikki? Nikki!"

You're not even aware that you've zoned out, vanished mentally to somewhere else until he calls your name, urgently yet somehow softly, more so than you could have imagined possible. His arms are laced around your back, steadying you, his face a perfect picture of worry and care and compassion all at once. You must look as if you've seen a ghost, you know that; in a way you're grateful that you're still on the doorstep, no chance of catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the hallway. You dread to even imagine what you might encounter gazing lifelessly back at you… yes, that's the word, lifeless. You feel as if Neil has sucked all the life from you, took it in his desperate fight to understand his own emotions, free himself from Scott's manipulative, powerful hold, then taken it with him when the hostage squad did the unthinkable. They didn't have to kill him, he was going to turn himself in… He sucked the life from you completely and left your heart empty bar the feelings of hopelessness, the loneliness and the despair…

"_Well, I'm not married. I've got no mum; she's been dead and buried for 20 years. And I haven't got any children, that was a lie too! No one would miss me!"_

And with that realization the waterworks fire up once more.

"Oh Nikki…" Harry is taking control now, you can feel him; you've long since first closed your eyes against the darkness, the shadows, the fear, but you can feel his hands on your shoulders, his gentle breathing on the back of your neck, his strength radiating from him in some queer, supernatural manner you'll never understand, pulling you back together a just a little, long enough to trust him as he leads you blind back into the warm, pushes you down gently onto what you're assuming is your sofa… or possibly your bed, you conclude, you're not entirely sure. And then you feel him next to you, arms around you tightly, holding you as though afraid to let you go. You're hardly going to object to that, not given the day you've had. As weak and feeble and downright pathetic as it makes you sound, you would be quite content in this moment were he never to let you go again.

"I'm sorry." Harry's chin is resting on the crown of your head, holding you to him even tighter than before, so much so you swear you can feel his heart beating in perfect synch with your own. "I'm so, so sorry, Nikki, I should never have left you…"

For a moment, you want to scream and shout, scream until your throat is hoarse, all said and done, nothing left to express to him any longer. You want to scream at him and tell him yes, he's right, he never should have left you, never should have disappeared off the opposite way down the corridor back in the university building and never come back. Until now. He should have known you wouldn't go home, not while he was still in there and Leo still helping out, still at risk. He should have left the building with you, left the paramedics to deal with Scott Western and come home with you, he should of… he should of…

But you can't shout at him. You try to find the words but they simply won't come, no matter how hard you fight to get them out. You just can't bring yourself to be angry at him, not after Janet filled you in on the way back to your flat. You know what he's been through himself this afternoon, how he spent hour after hour fighting to save the life of someone he truly believed to be innocent; at least at first. You know the conflict inside him now is going to be an all-raging one, filled with confusion and fear and maybe even a little anger mixed in, who knows? You can't add to his pain, not now, after he's been to hell and back again already. He came to your flat, you have to remember, he didn't come here because he wanted to be shouted at, serve as your emotional outlet, verbal punching bag. You can't do that to him, you just can't, no matter how badly you wish he'd never left you.

No… wait… maybe you're glad that he left you. You wouldn't want Harry to be put through what you were today; even though you would have given anything to have him with you, make you feel safe, still you won't wish he had been there with you, can't bring yourself to. Harry's strong, you know that, perhaps stronger than you. He's certainly less emotional. Perhaps had he been Neil's prisoner in the lab with earlier, he wouldn't be falling slowly but steadily to pieces the way you appear to be now, wouldn't be overanalysing every word, every step, every action. He would be shaken, yes, but he wouldn't be afraid of his own damn shadow, you suspect. You suspect it, but still you glad he wasn't there with you with the nightmare of this afternoon, even if there were times in it all when you'd give anything in the world to have him there to hold your hand, just for a moment or two. You never want him to experience even a fraction of the fear you felt today.

Although judging by the information Janet shared with you in the car on the way back to your flat, you're almost certain Harry would have experienced something very similar himself today, standing in the university toilets under the bomb. Then bomb which mysteriously failed to explode, failed to rob you of the one person you know for certain you couldn't possibly survive without, not anymore.

Maybe there really is a god, after all.

"It's OK." You pull yourself from your haphazard trail of thoughts and back to reality, squeeze his hand a little, wanting to be sure he knows he's forgiven, always. "Harry, it wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known. No one could have known…"

"No." He shakes his head now, almost angrily, though you can tell by the look in his eyes that the anger isn't directed at you. "No, I should have stayed with you, we should have left together when we had the chance, left the police and the paramedics to deal with…"

"But the paramedics weren't let in for hours, Harry, we did the right thing…" you try to tell him, though still he shakes his head vigorously, angrily, his face a picture of frustration and worry.

"But we didn't manage to save anyone, did we?" he reminds you bitterly. "Only Scott, and he was a bloody part of it all along!"

"That doesn't mean he didn't deserve saving, Harry," you try, aware that you're on dangerous ground on this one but desiring so badly to make him feel better about all this, not to allow him to feel even remotely close to the way you do now. "Whatever he did, surely he still needed saving?"

Harry simply shrugs, looks down at your carpet, refusing profoundly to meet your gaze. "It's just…" his voice trembles a little, and if only you didn't know him well enough to be aware that he hardly ever does, you might just have sworn he's crying, just a little. "I promised myself I'd protect you," he murmurs, his fingers running gently through your hair. "Not just today… always. You get yourself into dangerous situations far too often and I'm never there to protect you… I promised myself I wouldn't let it happen again, that I'd protect you," he repeats, voice dull, almost defeated. "And this time I could have protected you, if only I hadn't left you, wandered off like that. And now you've been dragged through hell and back and… and it's all my fault!"

"Harry…" You've never seen him quite like this before, aren't entirely sure how to react. You're usually the one who gets upset over things, while he's the one who gets angry, hostile, needs calming down in a completely different manner. You can cope with angry, you've learned how to deal with his anger, how best to calm his rage, his frustration, bring him back down the earth, to peace with himself. But emotionally vulnerable, upset like this? You don't know how to cope with the brink of tears. If you did, you would have stopped falling over the edge of it years ago.

"Harry, I'm fine," you try to reassure him, realising halfway through that this is never going to work. Harry simply knows you far too well; sometimes you wonder if he even knows you better than you know yourself. You know immediately that he just doesn't believe you, know he can see right through your lies to the fear and the pain and the torment left behind by the events of today, the emotional scars of your afternoon with Neil Corrigan. It's no good trying to hide it; you know he picked up on your jumpiness at the door when he first turned up, the startled look in your eyes when you could have sworn you saw something move in the shadows of your lounge. And then of course there's the way you broke down in tears in his arms on the doorstep… maybe you could pass that off as simply relief that he's OK, alive, still breathing and with you and you haven't been left all alone? No, you can't, you know he suspects there's more to it than that. You're not going to be able to talk him round, not this time.

"No, you're not," Harry sighs hopelessly. "Nikki, how can you be? You spent this afternoon held at gunpoint, for god's sake, and after the morning we had… you're not fine, I know you're not. I'm sorry. It's my fault, it's all my fault! I was the one who persuaded you to stay in there, I should have taken you home right after the shootout in the classroom, we would have been safe, you wouldn't have been held at gunpoint again…"

"Harry!" you have to shout to get through to him, and the raised tone of your voice makes the both of you flinch. "Harry, that's not important, I… I was scared I might lose you," you tell him, your voice now reduced to a whisper. "I thought the bombs were going to go off before there was time to evacuate everyone, I thought… I thought…"

"Never," he promises sincerely, turning to meet your gaze at last. "Never, Nikki, I promise. Never."

How is it that he's managed to reassure you so quickly, without you even having a chance to tell him what you so badly need him to reassure you of?

You sit in silence for a while, the pair of you, simply taking comfort in each other's presence, arms tangled, bodies entwined, his embrace the only thing holding you together as the shadows of the cars outside pass by behind your curtains, each one causing your heart to stop for just a moment even though you really should have learned to anticipate it. But still those words of earlier echo through your mind, taunting you; it's a fear you've been wrestling with all evening without truly realizing it. What if it had been Scott Western in the Lyell Centre with you this afternoon, not Neil, what if it was Scott who escaped, Scott who held you at gun point. What if he hadn't been as merciful, hadn't hesitated like Neil did, what if… would anyone…

"Anyway," Harry says, and you can tell right away from his tone that he's trying to lift the mood a little, joking with you, attempting to make you laugh in a way that only he can, no one else. "What I'm doing here getting all deep and meaningful on your sofa, as nice as it is, I really don't know. I only came for the Cuppa Soup."

He must have picked up on the blank, clueless look on your face.

"Cuppa Soup, remember? Nikki, you promised! Leo said that you told him to tell me that if I wanted to come round tonight you'd make me my favourite Cuppa Soup! Butternut squash, remember? You'd better have some, I didn't drive all the way over here for nothing, you know!"

It's simply not possible to restrain yourself from breaking into a fit of giggles, despite the traumas of today, the fear, the anger at the world and humanity for having the capacity to be so evil and the anguish of having no one to miss you if… But maybe… No. No, you're not going to think about that, going to try to forget. You're going to forget and move on, not think about it again. You have to. God only knows how you'll cope if you don't.

You smile at him now, Harry, untangle yourself from his arms and head off to your kitchen, rummage around in the back of the cupboard for a packet of butternut squash cuppa soup. As it turns out, Harry got lucky. Really lucky. You stick the soup on and then wander back into the lounge, collapse down beside him on the sofa once more, bury your head in his chest as his arms close in around you.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

You hardly dare to ask. You know the answer deep down, of course you do, but you want his reassurance, want to you that what you told Neil Corrigan today wasn't true, not really. You want him to tell it to you in plain English, no darting shiftily around the subject the way the pair of you seem to be so good at doing; as selfish or childish as it makes you sound you just want him to tell you, want to feel safe, needed. You need him to make it all stop.

"Would you miss me?"

Harry frowns. "Why?" he asks, his face a picture of confusion and the slightest shred of fear. "You're not thinking of leaving me, are you?"

It's only in hindsight that you'll realize just how much he makes the pair of you sound like a couple in that simple statement.

"No, I mean… if Neil had… today… if he'd lost control and…"

You don't bother finishing your question, not so much because it's too painful to get the words out but more because you know you don't need to. The shock on his face says it all, gives you the only answer you could possibly need.

"Oh Nikki…" He shakes his head a little, shocked, then rolls his eyes, despairingly, though a loving, caring despair, one that tells you for certain just how wrong you were. "You don't really need me to answer that one, do you?"

You just shrug, avoiding his gaze, all too aware of how needy you're being, how unfair it all is on Harry. This is why you're all alone, you know it, this is why you're so afraid of being unwanted, unmissed. You thought it was because you're so aloof, don't allow people in, but maybe you've been wrong all these years? Maybe it's really because you're too clingy, too needy towards those you… you love, maybe you scare them off? Oh god, maybe you've scared them all off, maybe you've begun the inevitable process of scaring Harry off, too?

"Nikki?"

"Hmm?" You can't quite remember where all this was going, what his last question was, you're just so lost in your thoughts, your fears, a curious mix of past and present, dreams and reality.

"You know," Harry says thoughtfully, leaning in closer. "Sometimes actions speak louder than words, don't you think?" And with that said he leans in even closer; before you've barely had the chance to register what's happening he's pressing his lips against yours in a slow-starting, yet deep, passionate kiss, the kind you've hardly dared dream of sharing with Harry. You're as close to him as physically possible now, fingers laced around his neck, your heart fuller yet somehow lighter than it was before, some deep contradiction taking over you, controlling you, and yet in all honesty you couldn't care less. All that matters is the body pressed to yours, the only one you've ever wanted, all along, that and the flow of deep, rich relief running through your veins, the feeling of knowing that you're loved, needed that you really would be missed, of course you would. All that matters is this moment with Harry Cunningham, this perfect moment in which your soul is complete, bound forevermore to his. Forever.

Harry never does get his cuppa soup.

**I honestly can't tell you how sorry I am this is so late. To all of you, but particularly Dinabar, I'm a whole week late with this, I know :( I also know I promised you this would be up 2 days ago, I'm sorry. It honestly was going to be, then I got snowed under with homework with no warning whatsoever :( This is why I always write birthday fics in advance, only the original got lost after my computer crashed. All I can say is blame my teachers and the computer, and that I hope the cake beat me, I'm horribly late. Thank you for being so patient and understanding and an incredibly belated happy birthday too, once again I can't tell you how sorry I am you had to wait a whole week for the end of this. That last part goes for everyone :(**

**Reviews would be amazing, just to let me know I'm not in your bad books for abandoning my writing this week :( I promise to do better next week, I really do. Conclusions in Cape Town and The Obsession/Dreaming on a velvet sky extension are on my list- let me know which one of those you want :) Sorry again.**

**Love Flossie xxx**


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